February 19, 2013

There Is No Life Without Limits

Beauty & The Beast (1987-1990)
So I'm watching Sons of Anarchy the other day and for some ungodly reason, I have a vivid memory from my childhood. No, I was not raised by a biker gang. They actually lived up the street, the MC Rebels and they gave kids whole chocolate bars on Halloween.  No, this was a vivid memory of my most cherished television show starring Ron Perlman & Linda Hamilton. For those of you who were potty trained in the early 90's, you will remember the epic doomed romance between the Catherine & Vincent, an Assistant District Attorney and the Lion-Man who lives in the sewers.

For those of you too young, this is not a joke. They actually put this show on TV. And I loved it. Whatever, I was five! Thanks to YouTube I started obsessively streaming videos of the show and was very displeased to discover the writing was... not as I remembered.

In the midst of my howls of laughter over "Vincent's Jealousy" and the absurdity over a Lion-MAN dressed in 18th century garb with Motley Crue hair who reads books by candlelight - I suddenly remembered that I watch the Vampire Diaries. Touche!

WATCH & SAVOUR
It will be the best five minutes of your life. 
So it has me thinking: WTF is going on with the female psyche that popular culture will have us romanticizing bestiality in the 80's and moving on to necrophilia a generation later? And it's getting weirder!

It's wrong to love him (illegal in most places), he's romantic & lives in the sewer.
Suspension of disbelief is one thing, but for "Beauty & The Beast" to have been a success - many would argue it wasn't as it was cancelled after three seasons - then women would have had to be down with Ron Perlman as the Shakespearean Jungle Lover. Like weird, but maybe I get it. The 80's were really obsessed with leopard print and big hair so... sure, let's give them this one.

He's trying to kill you, too old for you, and dripping with sarcasm / someone else's blood.
Then women wanted more. We moved on to the stalker/predator archetype which is so hard to shake off because deep down, we're flattered that he needs us to survive. But when you think about it, your girls/sisters/moms/and aunties want to bang a corpse. That's illegal everywhere, but we make a lot of money exploiting that desire and I have completely fallen prey to it. If given the chance, I'd take either Salvatore brother, Spike, Angel, Lestat... whatever. Bring them on. Don't worry, I have a team of therapists working on me. 

Useless in the sack, dumb as shit, but at least he likes you for your brain.
But now lover boy is dead. Really stinking, putrid, shat his pants, dead. And yep, we love him. Warm Bodies was an excellent romantic comedy. I got all teary eyed, felt a sense of hope at the end of the movie, and now have a girly crush on Nicholas Hoult. But seriously ladies... where is this going? HOW DEAD TO THE BOYS HAVE TO GET?!?!?

What is this about? Control? Abandonment Issues? Rejection? I think so. See a man who is misunderstood and living underground doesn't have a lot of options. Being hunted could only feel good if there is something alluring about being a victim. And love bringing someone back to life? What are we saying about the state of ourselves, both the feminine and masculine energies? 


I see that our pop-culture trends are demonstrating a huge hole-in-the-soul in the collective psyche of women who are clearly craving connection and not finding it. These CW fantasies are playing upon the fact that we are clearly broken, isn't it cute. And I should mention these profiles also describe my previous relationships, so I'm not one to judge. But how did we get here?


I am fearful for the future generations of women who will be anthropomorphizing lamps and trying to dry-hump the washing machine. In a society where we break every taboo for ratings and controversy, I think we could all benefit from some boundaries and sober-second thoughts. There should be limits and I'd like to stop at the decaying corpse. Let's please just stop there.

But we should also reflect on why we relate so much to these narratives. Writers only tap into the collective unconscious - it's not just for ratings. So how alive are we anyway?
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